


The (Mild) Plague Situation

by MeganWrites



Series: Rod of Asclepius [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeganWrites/pseuds/MeganWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ian rounds the corner and comes to a halt when he finds that Mickey is nowhere to be seen. He glances behind him the hall and then back the nurse’s station. He walks over to the counter and peeks over, finding no signs of Mickey anywhere. No crummy coffee mug with cracks and stains, no candy bar wrappers in the garbage can, and none stashed off to the side behind one of the computer monitors."</p><p>Ian is a nervous medical intern, Mickey is a grumpy nurse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (Mild) Plague Situation

**Author's Note:**

> This was not an originally planned part of this series... but sad things are happening in the show so... FLUFF. MASS AMOUNTS OF FLUFF. Sorry, once again, for any errors.

Ian drops his bag in his locker, rubbing at his tired eyes and preparing for another night at the hospital. It's been a few weeks since his internship officially ended and his residency began, which unfortunately means he is stuck with the grunt shifts - the ones that nobody wants. There's a bit of a trade off by the switching weeks but for the most part Ian is just stuck doing the shitty work for now.

He suspects most people would hate it, but he doesn't mind.

It helps that Mickey organized it so their schedules are more or less the same, even if it means that he's up all hours of the night or starting at the crack of dawn. Ian had thanked him for it, calling him sweet and cute, only to be punched in the arm and told the only reason Mickey switched was because working with Ian meant he could get his dick sucked during his shift. Ian has to admit the sex is an incredible benefit, still, he can't help feeling like it was more than that.

Ian fixes his scrubs and shuts his locker, practically skipping and humming as he walks down the hall to the nurse's station. Ian rounds the corner and comes to a halt when he finds that Mickey is nowhere to be seen. He glances behind him the hall and then back the nurse’s station. He walks over to the counter and peeks over, finding no signs of Mickey anywhere. No crummy coffee mug with cracks and stains, no candy bar wrappers in the garbage can, and none stashed off to the side behind one of the computer monitors.

"He's not here today, lover boy."

Ian's head snaps up at the sound of Dana's smooth voice coming from the opposite side of the half-moon shaped counters.

Ian blinks and clears his throat, trying to appear casual but surely failing miserably. "Who's not? Sarah?"

Dana rolls her eyes and sighs loudly, "You're really still doing this?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ian answers with a shrug. Dana gives him a judging stare, face straight and an eyebrow cocked high. Ian claps his hands together and rocks on the balls of his feet, he hates the idea of Dana prying into whatever sliver of a relationship he has with Mickey, but he's curious as to how he missed that Mickey isn't working.

He's had Mickey's schedule memorized for weeks.

"So, Mickey's not here today, huh?"

Dana smiles and laughs, probably at how easily Ian cracked. "No, he's not here today. He was yesterday, but the poor boy is coming down with something so I told him to stay home today."

Ian frowns but nods, he wonders if it's something serious or maybe just a bad cold. That's something about working in a hospital Ian is still getting used to. At most jobs if you have a cold you just chug some cough medicine and get on with your day, but at a hospital any type of contagious illness is a risk.

"That's too bad," Ian says calmly, hoping he might still get out of the conversation unscathed. "Think he'll be back tomorrow?"

Dana shakes her head, crossing her arms, "probably not, he was looking pretty pale yesterday."

So not a cold – something worse than a cold. Maybe just the flu, but the flu can fucking kill you. Ian fidgets and hums, pursing his lips and digging his nails into his palms. He’s a little worried. He knows that Mickey probably isn’t dying, or suffering from anything that could be deadly, except that doesn’t help. Just the idea of Mickey shivering and suffering alone in his apartment makes Ian’s heart ache.

“He gonna be okay?” Ian asks quietly, meeting Dana’s eyes and thankfully seeing her soften.

Dana stands up and steps around the counter. She rests a hand on Ian’s arm and says, “He’s tough, he’ll be fine. Try not to worry so much.” She steps away and starts to walk down the hall, holding a clipboard to her chest. She stops and looks back at Ian with a cheeky grin after a couple steps, “You know, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if someone went to check on him later though.”

Dana winks and continues on her way, leaving Ian smiling and feel the slightest bit comforted in her wake.

 

 

-

 

 

Mickey looks like hell when he opens the door. His hair is greasy and sticking up all over the place, his eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot, and his nose looks sore and red. He’s in a wife-beater and boxers with a big blanket draped over his shoulders and giant slippers on his feet

Ian almost wants to laugh at how comically sick and pathetic he looks but he gets the feeling it wouldn't be received very well.

Mickey scans Ian blearily, one hand still gripping the doorway, and says, “Fuck off.” The door is then promptly slammed in Ian’s face.

Ian groans and moves to lean against the door-frame. “C’mon Mick, I brought you soup.”

“Fuck off, Gallagher.” He hears Mickey’s hoarse voice from behind the closed door.

“It’s chicken noodle.”

“No one cares.”

“Who can say no to chicken noodle soup when they’re sick?” Ian asks, smiling at the door and Mickey’s endearingly petulant attitude.

“I can, fuck you.”

“What if I told you it was homemade?”

There’s a brief silence from inside before Ian hears shuffling of giant slipper-ed feet coming closer to the door. “Homemade by who?” Mickey’s voice is distinctly clearer and Ian knows that he’s got him.

“Debbie might have fixed it up for me while I was at work.”

The door swings open and Mickey is standing in front of him once again, looking just as dreary and pathetic as before but maybe a little perkier as he looks at the large plastic container Ian is holding.

“Not just for me though, right?” Mickey prods carefully.

“Nah, she was taking lunch suggestions but I might have pushed a bit more for this one.” Ian answers easily. It’s a lie. Sure, Debbie made enough for everyone to have lunch, but she wasn't planning on making anything before Ian had harassed her all night through texts until she finally relented.

Mickey hesitantly steps back from where he’s blocking the entrance-way, finally letting Ian step inside. Mickey snatches the container from Ian's hands as soon as the door is shut, causing his blanket to tumble off his shoulders and onto the ground. Mickey looks down at the crumpled heap and groans. Ian chuckles at picks up the blanket, draping it back over Mickey's shoulders and steering him gently to the couch.

"I can walk on my own," Mickey grumbles defiantly, but makes no move to resist.

Ian settles Mickey on the couch, draping another blanket over his legs and body once he's settled. "Is that okay? Too warm? Not warm enough?"

Mickey leans back, still holding the container of soup against his chest and closes his eyes. "S'fine, Gallagher. Perfect fuckin' temperature."

"Did you take something?" Ian asks as he sheds his jacket and wanders into the kitchen.

"Jesus Christ, I'm a fuckin' nurse, I know when to take fuckin' medicine."

"So did you?" Ian questions again, returning from the kitchen with a spoon in hand.

Mickey huffs and glares, "like ten minutes ago."

Ian smiles as he drops onto the couch beside Mickey. He carefully pry’s the container from Mickey's hands, popping it open easily and stirring the soup quickly.

"You gonna feed it to me too," Mickey teases and coughs loudly, it's gravelly and sounds painful. He squishes his face and swallows once he's done. He looks back at Ian and glares, "stop giving me fuckin' puppy eyes, I'm not dying."

Ian rolls his eyes, he knows that Mickey isn't dying but that doesn't help. He still doesn't like how miserable Mickey is. Ian wishes that he could just make it all better, because he just wants to make everything better for Mickey. He wants to make Mickey smile and laugh, and feel fucking amazing every single day. This day, with Mickey being sick, is the exact opposite of how Ian wants Mickey to feel.

Even if whatever bug Mickey's caught is curable or temporary, Ian hates it.

"Here," Ian holds out the container to Mickey. 

Mickey's glare softens as he greedily grabs the soup, carefully sipping at hot spoonfuls and sighing contently. Ian watches him and smiles softly, feeling the slightest bit better that the soup seems to be helping. Mickey glares at Ian sharply once again when he notices the blatant ogling causing Ian to blush furiously and turn away. Ian jumps up from the couch and wanders over to the TV stand, crouching down and reading the DVD titles.

"So, what's your comfort movie?" Ian asks, chancing a glance back at Mickey.

Mickey snorts, then winces and rubs at his throat, "the fuck is a comfort movie?"

"Like a comfort blanket?" Ian says with a shrug. "You know, like a movie you watch when you feel like shit just because you like it - makes you feel better."

Mickey pauses and stares at Ian for a long moment before returning to his soup. "Sounds like a dumb chick thing."

Ian sighs and turns back to the DVD's. "Yeah, because wanting to feel better is exclusively for girls," He mutters, reading over titles once again. He stops at one title on a worn DVD case and grins. He quickly pops the disc in and turns on the TV, dropping back onto the couch beside Mickey.

"Found it," Ian teases with a smirk.

Mickey slurps loudly as he tips the container to drink the last bits of soup. He licks his lips and wipes them with the back of his sleeve in a classically gross, but hot because it's Mickey, move. He drops the container onto the floor and looks over at Ian.

"Found what?"

"Your comfort movie."

Mickey huffs and sniffs as he pulls the blanket on his shoulders tighter around his body. "I already told you I don't have one, so you actually just found shit."

Ian shrugs, "maybe you just don't know you have one."

The screen lights up with the title menu for the first Rocky movie and Ian sneaks a glance at Mickey's reaction. He catches a small smile on Mickey's lips before Mickey notices and forces his face straight once again.

"Alright, so I fuckin' like this movie, doesn't mean it's a comfort movie." Mickey says, a harsh cough following.

Ian's smile drops as he watches Mickey struggle with his cough and reaches over to rub his hand up and down Mickey's back soothingly, the same way Fiona used to do for him when he was little. Fuck, he really hates seeing Mickey like this.

Mickey doesn't shove Ian's hand off once he's finished coughing, just stays leaned forward so Ian can continue the gentle movements. Ian reaches for the remote with his free hand and presses play, the screen turns black as the movie starts up.

"Hey Mickey, lay down," Ian murmurs, gently tugging at Mickey's arm until he flops onto his side, resting his head in Ian's lap without any resistance. Ian pulls the blankets around Mickey's shaking body, tucking him in before continuing to rub his back gently with one hand and brushing through his hair with the other. "How you feeling?"

Mickey hums and shakes his head, "like shit."

Ian leans down and kisses Mickey's thickly covered shoulder, resting his chin there, "I'm sorry."

"Fuck off, you didn't do anything," his words sound soft in his drowsy voice.

"I know," Ian whispers, brushing a loose hair away from Mickey's eyes. He takes a moment to just admire Mickey. His eyes are closed despite the movie blaring in the background and his lips are parted, sounding wheezy as he breathes in and out. He's stopped shivering now, happily relaxing against Ian and into his touch. Even when he's disgusting, he's gorgeous, and Ian's just so in love with him.

Ian starts to knead his back, rubbing at bundles of tense muscles until they start to loosen. Mickey's softly whispers, "keep doing that" and Ian happily obliges. He's sure he would happily do anything Mickey told him to. Ian moves his hand slowly up Mickey's back, kneading and massaging his skin. Mickey moans and sighs once Ian reaches his shoulder blades (and fuck, does he sound hot, but Ian reminds himself that's not what he's here for).

"You sure you're a doctor and not a fuckin' masseuse. Jesus." Mickey groans, his eyelids fluttering and he hums as Ian pushes his hands against his skin, spreading his fingers and bringing them back together.

Ian chuckles, "Definitely not a masseuse, but as a doctor I know that being sick usually isn't great for muscle tension. Feels good?"

Mickey nods, rubbing his nose against Ian's jeans, "amazing. Fuck."

Ian feels a surge of pride knowing that even though Mickey is sickly and ailing, Ian can still make him feel good. Maybe it’s a weird thing to be proud about, but Ian just is. He smiles to himself and continues rubbing his hand all over Mickey’s back, neck and down his arms as the movie plays.

It’s about half an hour in when Mickey dozes off and Ian stops his idle massage. The medicine that Mickey took must have had a drowsy side effect because Mickey is gone to the world. The movie is bright and loud, but Mickey seems to be completely unaffected, taking in short wheezy breaths as he drools on Ian’s jeans. Ian lets his hand drop to cradle Mickey’s head, brushing his thumb across Mickey’s cheek and smiling at him.

Honestly, it’s probably a little creepy that Ian is just staring at him, completely oblivious to whatever is happening in the movie (though he’s seen Rocky a few times so it’s not hard to guess). He feels like he can just sit there all night watching Mickey; the way that one stubborn hair keeps falling his eyes, or how he squishes up his nose before he turns his head or moves an arm. He loves that he can be here for Mickey, keep him comfortable and content and warm. God, just doing fucking anything for him – doing everything for him.

It blows Ian’s mind sometimes how much he cares about Mickey. Ian’s never considered himself to be the type to fall in love so easily, it’s never happened to him before, not in this love-struck puppy way it has with Mickey. Though maybe he’s just always thought he wasn’t the type to fall so quickly because he’d never met someone worth falling for. Not until Mickey, at least.

He wonders a lot if Mickey feels the same way. If maybe he makes Mickey just as crazy as Mickey makes him. It doesn’t seem possible, with all the hiding and restrictions that Mickey puts on their relationship – anything outside of a friendship barred strictly from anyone else’s eyes or knowledge.

But then Mickey lets Ian around him when he’s like this. Mickey doesn’t depend on anyone, doesn’t want to and doesn’t like to. Ian’s the same way. He hates thinking that he can’t just fucking handle things on his own, but sometimes he can’t and that’s a reality he’s had to embrace over the past few years. Ian _gets_ how fucking hard it is to depend on someone else. So when Mickey asks Ian for a favour, or let’s Ian take care of him when he’s sick, Ian knows how much that means.

It’s trust. Irrefutable and absolute trust.

Fiona always used to say that trust meant more than love. Something about how love was a kneejerk reaction but trust had to be earned. Ian likes that he’s at a point with Mickey where he’s earned that trust, though he hopes that maybe Mickey’s gotten that ‘kneejerk reaction’ as well.

Ian watches the final ten minutes of the movie (because fuck, it’s Rocky and how can you not?) and then the credits roll. Mickey is still curled up on Ian’s lap and fast asleep. Ian grabs the remote and turns off the TV. It’s late in the afternoon and Ian’s starting to feel tired from the lack of sleep after his last shift. He’s off for the rest of the day but his next shift is early in the morning and he’s unfortunately aware that he needs to go home and get some rest.

Ian carefully moves out from under Mickey, getting himself free and standing up before he moves to pick Mickey up and carry him to his bedroom. He walks slowly, trying not to jostle Mickey from his sleep as he moves. Ian kicks open Mickey’s bedroom door quietly and shuffles to Mickey’s bed slowly, careful to avoid the piles of junk and clothing on the floor (Mickey’s not exactly a tidy person). Ian deposits Mickey onto the mattress then covers him in blankets and quilts, tucking him in tightly like he did on the couch. He smiles down fondly at Mickey, brushing a hand through his hair one last time and kissing his temple before stepping away.

“Where’re you goin’?”

Ian turns back to look at Mickey, wrapped up in blankets and frowning tiredly at Ian. “Wanted to let you get some sleep,” Ian answers, walking back over to Mickey and sitting on the edge of the mattress. “You looked like you could use it.”

Mickey hums and nods, nostrils flaring as he breathes out deeply, “Nah, fuck that. Come ‘ere.” Mickey reaches out and grabs onto Ian’s arm, pulling him to lay down next to Mickey.

Ian chuckles and drapes an arm over Mickey, nuzzling into his shoulder and smiling. “Was I just invited to a sleepover?” He teases, kissing Mickey’s shoulder. “A 'no sex' sleepover?”

“Fuck you,” Mickey grumbles drowsily, rolling in closer to Ian and closing his eyes once again. “It’s just so we can fuck when I wake up.”

Ian feels Mickey shaking and shivering against him and wraps himself around Mickey completely, holding him tightly and willing whatever body heat he has to go to Mickey. “Just a sleepover of convenience then, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s all.” Mickey says and yawns, he’s drifting off once again and his mind is going foggy. “Now shut up and put your pretty little ginger head to sleep.”

Ian smiles and almost laughs, keeping it to himself so as not to disturb Mickey as he dozes off once again. Ian kisses Mickey’s neck chastely before nuzzling in and closing his eyes, falling asleep only minutes after Mickey.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr :)](http://meganwwrites.tumblr.com)


End file.
